Hallways.
Endless,
Winding,
Stretching hallways.
A mess of people
Pushing past each other,
Chattering,
Staring straight ahead,
Or down at their schedule,
To get to their next class.

They say that class bores them
But, secretly,
Science is her favorite
Because the cute boy
Sits next to her in class.
Desks fill up when students
Plop themselves into the blue
Plastic seats and
Carelessly drop their backpacks
On the tiled floor.

Once eighth graders, at the top,
Freshman are back down
To the bottom.
Little kids.
We stare up at the tall Seniors,
The piercings,
Couples,
Athletes,
We look and we think,
"One day,
I'll be a Sophomore,
Then Junior,
Then Senior."

And we think about
Our futures.
They might look at us
Like the runts,
But in order to be
A scientist,
An actress,
An author,
We all have to start as
Freshman.